


Reiner, My Love

by ackermom



Series: What the Water Gave Us [3]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1950s, F/F, M/M, nothing else to say except:, reiner is yumikuri's sugar daddy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-23
Updated: 2018-12-23
Packaged: 2019-09-07 03:50:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16846555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ackermom/pseuds/ackermom
Summary: Historia doesn’t know a lot of girls who write to their conscripted, homosexual fiancés, and she’s pretty sure that most girls dating GIs don't regularly receive mass amounts of money to fund their romantic relationships with other women.





	Reiner, My Love

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this two years ago and promptly forgot about it so,,, happy crmisms

Things have changed, and Historia is glad for it.

Most of the changes are long overdue, in her opinion. She’s living in a vibrant city now, where there are real people and real things to do. She’s thriving in her college classes, where she can finally put her mind to good use. She shares a dorm room with her best friend, and no one is wiser if only one of their beds ever gets used. She's free now, something she has dreamed of for so long.

But as much as Historia is glad for these changes, there are some things she can’t seem to leave in the past.

The year before college was long- too long. There was an endless summer of waiting and wondering, and then there were shuffles and transfers and train rides up and down the east coast. By the time she was resettled at a new boarding school, she was turning around and preparing for college. It was hard to keep in touch that year, and eventually she lost track of where everyone ended up. She’s grateful that she and Ymir managed to make it to the same college, but as for the rest of her high school classmates- well, she could live without seeing most of them again.

Only two of them linger in her mind now, and they are the ones she’s most likely to never see again.

She tried to visit that summer, but she was seventeen then and the police wouldn’t let her into the jail without a parental guardian. Her father- he didn’t care or understand, no matter what Historia had to say. He’d read the newspapers, and that was all he needed to know.

So she wrote letters.

There were so many things she wanted to say in her first letter:  _how are you, what is your attorney saying, do you really think a plea deal is your best chance, no really, Reiner, how are you?_

All she could manage to write were pleasantries: the weather, the latest films, the latest music, and more about the weather.  _Virginia’s colder than I expected_ , she wrote from one school.  _At least I’m back in Georgia,_  she wrote from another. _I’m close to your mother, I think,_  she wrote from a brief stint in the Florida panhandle.  _I can visit if you want. I’m sure she wants to know how you’re doing._

The response to that last letter was brief.

 _Don’t bother_ , he’d written.  _She doesn’t want to know._

Historia supposed that Reiner’s parents couldn’t be blamed for their silence.

Well, they could and she certainly did blame them, but it occurred to her, reading that letter in her first-class car on the train to Atlanta, that her urge to protect him was strange. They had never been particularly close at school, but when the arrests happened, Historia had been overwhelmingly filled with a desire to defend her classmates and to prove the police wrong. When they pled guilty, she just wanted to hug them. For so long, she’d wondered why she felt that way and why no one agreed with her.

Ymir sat across from her on that train ride, nudging Historia’s kitten heels with her feet.

Historia kicked her, and it wasn’t long before the car conductor was asking them to quiet down, ladies, please, there’s no footsy in first class.

Oh, that was why.

She wrote to Bertholdt too, long-winded letters about whatever was filling her life at that moment. His responses were so mournful, so personal, that eventually she stopped reading them and instead slyly tucked them into the folds of her letters to Reiner. No-contact order be damned, Historia was not going to keep Bertholdt’s poetic thoughts from his beloved.

The first time she finds a check enclosed in one of Reiner’s letters is after she passes along a particularly emotive message from Bertholdt. The small paper falls into her lap innocently, and she stops to ponder it for a moment. She’s late for French literature because she spends so long staring at the absurd check, and it’s not until later that night, when she returns to her dorm, exhausted from another trivial manners lesson, that she is able to sit down and study the check properly.

It’s not an insignificant amount of money. She doesn’t know how much Reiner makes in the army, but she can’t imagine that this kind of money is any small cut to his service pay. She wonders if it’s a thank you for being the middleman, or if she’s meant to send it on to Bertholdt.

The letters says nothing about the check: just a response to Historia’s last message about the bizarre snowfall in Atlanta. The weather has been harsh in Frankfurt too, he tells her, but he’s grateful for her letters to keep him company through the long winter season.

There’s nothing about the check at all, until the very end.

_P.S. Cash this and take Ymir out to dinner. You two deserve something nice._

Historia stares at those words for a long time.

She decides not to question it. Reiner must be lonely over there and, well, it’s a kind gesture. If she’s learned anything in manners class, it’s that a favor should be returned in kind. She’ll send him a care package this month.

“Where’d you get the dough to drop on this kinda place?” Ymir asks under her breath.

Historia decides not to tell her- not yet, at least.

“I’ve been saving,” is all she says. “Don’t we deserve something nice every now and then?”

The bow-tied host gives them a suspicious look when they insist on being seated together, alone, no, they’re not waiting for their boyfriends. But they’ve dressed up for the occasion and Historia has even convinced Ymir to wear a skirt. There’s nothing wrong with two respectable young ladies out to dinner, especially when they’ve got the cash to cover it.

They’re served without question after that, and Historia has to admit that, while she hates to think of Reiner cold and alone on an army base, he was right: this is nice, and they do deserve it.

Historia starts boxing up a care package as soon as she gets home. One of the girls in her dorm gets wind that she’s sending something to “her soldier” overseas, and soon her room is flooded with doe-eyed coeds who insist on helping her stuff the box with chocolate and postcards and cut-out articles from local newspapers (the girls think that’s a bit odd, but Historia finds an article from the crime beat that mentions certain detectives by name, and she knows he’ll want to read it). She sends the box as soon as possible, and she includes a grateful letter.

_Reiner, my love,_

_It was so nice to receive your last letter. I’m disheartened to hear that the winter has not been kind to either of us, but perhaps Georgia will have snow at Christmas this year. That treat would make up for all the chilly days. Unfortunately, I am just not bred for the cold and my new heels have already been worn out by the ice. Spring cannot come quickly enough._

_This letter is enclosed in a care package to thank you for the kind contribution you sent me last month. It was so thoughtful of you to think of my mother, and I assure you, we had a splendid dinner uptown. We dined at a delightful new restaurant. When you come home, we must go there._

Her mother, of course, being Ymir, who is, of course, not actually her mother. They’ve gotten quite good at this coded letter game, and Historia knows that Reiner knows what she means. He certainly writes enough about his “dear school friend.” Frankly, if anyone is screening these letters, they’re doing a piss poor job of defending against homosexuality in the military.

But she’s not complaining.

Reiner’s response arrives just before the end of her first college semester. Her bags are packed and her train is waiting as she tears the letter open. To her surprise, another check falls into her lap.

She reads on.

_My love,_

_Your words are a treasure to me in our time apart. I can’t wait to be with you again beneath the magnolia trees. I think about you every night when-_

Nope, not for her.

Historia folds that one up and makes a mental note to send it on to Bertholdt. She tries the next letter.

 _Dear sweetheart_ , Reiner writes,

_I’m always pleased to hear that you and your mother are doing well. I hope you had a wonderful time at dinner despite the snow. I’m sorry to hear about your new heels, darling. Please treat yourself to a new pair. I’m sure your mother would love to see you in them._

_Thank you so much for the package you sent. The kids in town always love chocolate, and it’s nice to keep up to date on the news. You know how much I miss being at home._

There’s more, but there’s nothing else about the check.

Historia stares at the check. It’s more than enough to buy one pair of shoes. It’s more than enough to buy a few pairs. She doesn’t know where Reiner’s getting this money- or why he’s sending it to her, for that matter- but she does the math in her head and figures out that, given what she knows, this must amount to most of his pay for the last month. He should be saving for when he comes home. Why on earth is he sending it all to her?

She puts the check away in her desk and forgets about it while she’s home for winter break. She can’t spend all her time poring over his letters looking for clues, and to that matter, she hasn’t even decided if she’s going to use the money. She doesn’t know what she should say to Ymir. Winter has been rough to her shoes, but not rough enough to cause irreversible damage. There’s certainly no need to buy a brand new pair.

Need, apparently, is not the issue at stake.

Historia sends him a response just after Christmas, and when she receives his reply at the beginning of the new semester, she feels like she’s being scolded.

_Dear sweetheart,_

_I’m disappointed to hear that you’re still wearing those worn out shoes. I was being genuine when I told you to treat yourself, but if it seems excessive, then treat your mother instead. I haven’t the faintest idea what she would want, but you’ve always known her better than I. I can’t believe she’s put up with me for this long, so it seems only fair for you to indulge her desires._

She shouldn’t have mentioned in her last letter that she hadn’t cashed the check. There’s still another check enclosed in Reiner’s most recent letter, and this one is written out specifically for Historia’s “mother.”

She sets the checks side by side on her desk and contemplates them, weighing her decision as the last winter snow begins to thaw. She could be responsible and put the money in the bank. She could be polite and refuse to take his money anymore. She could be indulgent and take Ymir to the beach for a weekend.

She decides to let the decision weigh on Ymir’s shoulders.

“Reiner sent you all this money?” Ymir exclaims when Historia lets her in on the secret. “What the hell for?”

“I don’t know,” Historia says.

They’re lounging on her bed, textbooks lying forgotten on the floor, and Historia examines Reiner’s last two letters in detail.

She frowns. “Well, his instructions are actually pretty straightforward.”

“Instructions?” Ymir asks.

She snatches the letters from Historia and scans them. “Please treat yourself? Indulge her desires? Gross, is he getting off on this?”

“What?” Historia exclaims. She wrestles the letters out of Ymir’s grasp. “Of course not.”

“Oh, that’s right, because he’s getting off on the pornography you send him courtesy of Private Hoover.”

“I think he’s just bored,” Historia says, glancing over the letters again. “He must be lonely, don’t you think? And this is a bit of a game to occupy his time.”

“Blah, blah.”

“He told me that the other guys in his unit know his background,” Historia says. “Not all the details, but they know that he’s been conscripted as part of his parole, and well, I think he’s just looking for a way to get by.”

“He’s living vicariously through our relationship,” Ymir says. “I’ll repeat: gross.”

She smirks. “Hey, should we send him a picture of you in your new heels and nothing else?”

Historia folds the letters back into their envelopes. “Now, that’s pornography. We’ve managed to evade army censors so far by tucking our letters into the same envelope, but I’m certain a photograph would be noticed.”

“I’m sure girls do it all the time.”

“I’m sure they do, but I have a little dignity left,” Historia says. “Regardless, I don’t think Reiner would appreciate a photo of my bare legs.”

“Do you think we could convince him it’s a photo of Bertholdt’s bare legs?”

Historia smacks her with the envelopes.

“I’m kidding,” Ymir exclaims. “But seriously, what are you going to do with the money? Take us out to another fancy meal? Indulge yourself in a new pair of shoes? Hey, get the ones that Martha down the hall got, but in a better color. I’d love to see the look on that stupid girl’s face when she finds out you’re going steady with a GI.”

“Very funny,” Historia mutters. She purses her lips as she glances over the checks one more time. “But what do you think? Should we spend it? It’s his money.”

Ymir snorts. “It's our money now. We oughta throw it around like confetti." 

Historia is not one to take advantage of her friends.

But Ymir’s right. What else is she going to do? Send the checks back?

Spring break is approaching faster than she thought. It would be nice to get away for a while.

The air is still cold when they arrive at the beach, but it’s a breezy relief from the stiff winds of city life. They check into a bed and breakfast by the sea (“it’s so lonely being a war widow,” Ymir says loudly when the concierge raises an eyebrow at them), and Historia tries to take Reiner’s words to heart: indulge themselves.

Indulge, they do.

Their bed is quiet enough that it hardly squeaks when they tumble together in the sheets, hands between legs and lips on collarbones. Sharing a room in the dormitories is one thing, but sharing a bed in a remote hotel in a seaside village where no one knows their names- well, that’s an entirely different advantage, and Historia has trouble keeping herself quiet as Ymir indulges her in bed.

They take time off to explore the beach. Classes have been harder this semester and Historia isn’t looking forward to the papers she has due when she returns. But it’s a nice break to stick their cold feet in the sand and brave the waves every now and then, their scarves blowing wildly in the wind as they laugh at each other. There’s hardly anyone else at the beach that weekend, and they lock arms as they stroll down the boardwalk: just two friends having fun.

It’s more than she could have dreamed, and on their last night away, they treat themselves to dinner at a restaurant on the shore. Their table overflows with wine glasses and seafood plates, and before they know it, they are almost too exhausted to make it back to the hotel. They fall asleep still dressed for dinner, tucked against each other on top of the sheets, and Historia tries to remember to send Reiner the longest, most grateful letter ever when they return to campus.

 _You’re welcome, darling_ , he writes in his response, weeks later.  _I’m so glad to hear that you had a lovely vacation. You and your mother are so special to me, and I want you to cherish the time you have together._

Never let it be said that Reiner Braun is not just the most darlin' thing ever.

But there’s another check inside the envelope, and as delighted as Historia was to be able to take Ymir away for the weekend, she’s not sure what she could possibly do with this next delivery of money.

She makes up her mind very quickly when a professor suggests that they straighten out their marriage prospects sooner rather than later.

“I’m so sick of this bullshit,” Ymir grumbles on their way back from class. “Christ, I’m just gonna pretend that I’m already engaged or whatever. I’ll make up the most boring fiancé imaginable. Then everyone will stop asking, right?”

“Right,” Historia says absentmindedly. Reiner’s check is lingering in her school bag, and she traces a mental route to the nearest bank. “Of course.”

Not two days later, she waltzes into a jewelry store and slams a fistful of cash onto the counter.

“I’m interested in engagement rings,” Historia says.

The saleswoman behind the counter stares at her.

“I’m sorry, ma’am?”

“I said, I’m interested in engagement rings,” Historia repeats. “You sell those, don’t you?”

The saleswoman hesitates, then breaks out into a nervous smile. “We certainly do, young lady, but isn’t your fiancé coming to pick out your ring for you? It would be most unusual to-”

“He’s overseas,” Historia says. “Don’t worry, this is his money.”

God forbid she make an independent purchase in this country.

“Oh, I understand, ma’am,” the saleswoman says. “But I’m afraid it’s quite unusual for a young lady to purchase her own engagement ring. Now, if you were accompanied by your fiancé or his parents, perhaps then-”

Historia leans in close over the counter, her hands clenching around the cash. “Listen,” she hisses.

The saleswoman goes white.

“I’d stop the chit chat if I were you,” Historia says. “You don’t know who you’re dealing with.”

“Now, young lady-”

“My fiancé is a straight up thug,” Historia continues. “He’s known around these parts as- well, that’s not important, but I can assure you, he’s an outright felon.”

She pauses. “Actually, I think that charge was dropped as part of his plea bargain. I’m not sure. My father wouldn’t let me go to the trial. Can you believe that?”

She leans in even further. “Either way, he’s been to jail, and he won't be too happy if he hears that someone denied his sweetheart her God given right to buy herself a damn ring. So I suggest that you get your act together and let me make my purchase, amen, hallelujah.”

She rifles her fingers through the cash. “As you can see, ma’am, I’m good for it.”

The saleswoman stares at her, eyes wide. She takes a deep breath and smiles.

“Of course, ma’am,” she says. “What kind of ring are you looking to purchase?”

“Something simple,” Historia says. “Actually, I’m looking for a pair.”

The saleswoman raises an eyebrow.

“We’re a real romantic type,” Historia says drily. “We want to match.”

“Well, if you’re looking for a matching set, may I redirect you to our wedding band collection? Many of these are certainly suitable for engagement rings as well-”

Historia doesn’t follow her to the other side of the counter. She stops and points at a simple gold band sitting behind the glass case. “There, how about that one?”

“Very well, ma’am, but these are women’s rings. For your fiancé, may I suggest-”

“It’ll fit,” Historia says. “He has very dainty fingers.”

In her next letter, she thanks Reiner for his proposal of marriage.

 _I’ll wear my ring proudly,_  she writes.

His response is perturbed, but he plays along.

 _Of course, darling_ , he writes back.  _Only the best for my love._

The one who is really confused is Ymir.

“You got me a fucking engagement ring,” she says, staring at the tiny gold band.

“No one will ask you when you’re settling down,” Historia explains. “And guys still stop flirting with you when we go out to dance. And look.”

She holds up her ring finger. “We match.”

Ymir stares at her for a moment, then bursts into blubbering tears.

“It’s not an engagement ring,” she cries. “You got me a fucking wedding ring.”

Historia stares at her, then at their rings. “Oh, well, I suppose so. I just wanted men to leave us alone, but sure, I guess we’re married now.”

“Christ,” Ymir says, slipping the ring on. “Tell Reiner thanks for single-handedly funding our happy ever after.”

When she’s writing her next letter to Reiner, Historia stops to think.

This is odd, isn’t it? This relationship they’ve cultivated?

She doesn’t know a lot of girls who write to their conscripted, homosexual fiancés, and she’s pretty sure that most girls dating GIs don't regularly receive mass amounts of money to fund their romantic relationships with other women.

Ah, well, Reiner must be bored over there. At least she’s keeping him entertained.

**Author's Note:**

> reiner: by the way i'm broke now  
> reiner: i sent all my money to ymir and historia   
> bertholdt: what  
> reiner: i just want them to have nice things, you know


End file.
